Even Meeting Strangers Brings Sighs and similar poems

Even Meeting Strangers Brings Sighs

Whenever I come upon a strange road, I still sigh with regret.

Returning Late

Beyond the hills, the dusk sinks beneath the mist.
A lone lamp stains my robe with pale light.
Each time I return, the old sorrow lingers.
I see no familiar face, only the echo of intent.

Farewell in Dream

The candle weeps to its end, the night unyielding.
An old companion speaks sweetly in my dream.
I wake with a start–my heart fluid as water.
And no boat in sight to carry me home.

To No One

After rain, the mountain bridge is rimmed with new grass.
Whose letter rides the dust upon the wind?
I arrive, they leave–not a word between us.
Only spring’s cold clings to my sleeves like someone I once knew.

Untitled

In youth, I vowed to journey far.
Now grey, I look back and see only poetry.
If you ask what I gained in this life:
A thousand cold mountains, and the hour alone.

Self-Examination

In youth I bore great pride, ambition like the sweeping wind.
A decade walked in vain, yet still I grasp at skill.
Dreams proved to be illusions, bold words collapsed to air.
I eat from half-empty bowls; others mock the old poverty.
Trapped between a narrow earth and sky, my thoughts roam time itself.
If you ask what went wrong–my years simply flowed east like water.

Empty Years

Twenty-four years gone, like duckweed on the stream.
I set my heart on the distance, but no clear road appeared.
Hungry, I still write verse; ill, I still chase bread.
The world deceives with harshness, and talent buys no warmth.
Fame remains a distant lie, dead dreams coil tight within.
I smile alone on an empty street, wind stirring the restless night.

Before the Mirror Again

The glass shows a stranger–black hair dusted white.
I question my own heart, but dreams no longer bring the spring.
Old ambitions burn like paper, new worries press like cartwheels.
I force a smile before the crowd, but my shadow holds the pain.
Awake, I possess no grand strategy; poor, but one friend remains.
If I could walk this path again–I would not dare be the same man.

The Mirror Now

In youth, my eyes held dawnlight bright,
And silence came from bashful fright.
One smile could startle blooms to fall,
The spring breeze brushed my shadow light.

But now the glass reflects decay,
My dead gaze casts a colder ray.
The sleepless night grows long and blunt,
And no one mourns this dusk of grey.

Changed Reflection

As a child, my eyes were lit within,
My silence only veiled by timid skin.
One smile would wet the flowers’ breath,
Spring’s wind would seep into my dreams again.

But now I meet the mirror’s ash,
A dying lamp, a face grown brash.
I stand alone before myself,
What scent remains of what once passed?